


no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

by maraanan



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Illustrated, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraanan/pseuds/maraanan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander’s voice is soft when he speaks. “Did you love him?”</p><p>Laslow’s first instinct is to deny it, to say no, no he did not love him. But Xander is here, and he is kind, tender, and he cares about him. It’s the real Xander, who is far from the image of the cold, unmoving prince. Xander, his dear friend. Laslow doesn’t want to lie to him.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Laslow says. He’s looking down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. “Perhaps I did, once. I honestly don’t know myself, but… I think I did. Even so, that’s it. Being in love, just the feeling. Nothing happened.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

 It’s during the kingdom’s lavish masquerade ball when Laslow remembers him. It's not the colorful gowns, or the lively music, or the joyful dancing that reminds him of Gerome - it is only the masks set upon everyone’s faces.

The thought of him made Laslow’s heart pang. What would he be doing right now, he wonders? Does he still spend his time brooding? Does his Minerva miss Laslow’s dancing? Is he happy?

(Does he miss him?)

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Xander had appeared beside him. Laslow had not noticed him come. He looks up to him (for Xander was a good deal taller) and smiles. “Milord.”

Xander smiles back. “You looked quite pensive back here.” He’s in a good mood. Why should he not be? His sibling are happy, the burden of war is off his shoulders, and there is music in the air. “Is everything all right, Laslow? Normally, I would expect you to be off flirting with young women. Not that I want you to, though.”

“It’s nothing, milord. I assure you,” says Laslow. “I was simply reminiscing.”

“Reminiscing,” Xander repeats. “Of your homeland, I assume?”

Laslow’s smile fades into something somber, quieter. “You guess correctly, milord.”

They are both silent, for a moment. Laslow looks back to the dancing crowd, and feels Xander’s eyes on him. Then, Xander says, in a voice low as a whisper, “tell me about it.”

Laslow looks back at him, startled. “Pardon?”

“Your homeland. Your old world. Whatever it is that makes you seem so sullen, in the middle of a party so alive,” Xander says. “Clearly, there is something on your chest. Come now, my friend, you know it’s never healthy to keep these things in.”

“It gladdens me to know milord is so concerned about me.”

“Of course I am. You’re not just a mere retainer to me, Laslow, but a dear companion,” Xander says.

Laslow considers him. “Would it be too much to ask that we move to a more private location for this, milord?” 

Xander does not argue.

 

 

They move outside, on the balcony. Laslow leans his arms on the railing. He’s removed his mask. Xander stands next to him.

“Well?” Xander asks. “What is it that’s bothering you?”

“It’s just that - well.” Laslow sighs. “The ball. The masks. It reminds me of someone I knew, from my homeland.” He caresses his own mask with his thumb, gently.

“Go on.”

“He was my… friend,” Laslow says, not knowing which word to use. “Friend” didn’t give the whole story. “Lover” never happened. “And he always wore a mask. Every day, all the time.”

Xander nods. “I see,” he says, “and I take that your relationship with your ‘friend’ was actually something more?”

Laslow could choke on air. He turns red. “Surely you jest, milord.”

“I do not,” Xander replies. “Am I correct, then? After all, I _am_ well acquainted with how Corrin and Silas try to cover up their relationship by telling everyone that they’re ‘just best friends’.” He draws air quotes around the words.

“I knew there was something between them,” Laslow mutters. Sure enough, he remembers spotting the both of them in the midst of the crowd, waltzing and laughing together. Something best friends did, of course. Great, now he owes Odin money.

“Don’t try to change the subject, Laslow.”

“Fine. Forgive me, milord.” Laslow sighs. “You are… somewhat correct. I guess. It’s complicated.”

Xander nods, understanding. “What was his name?” He asks, gently.

Laslow breathes in, then exhales. “Gerome.”

“What was he like?”

Laslow closes his eyes. He remembers Gerome. He has to remind himself that. He remembers Gerome, his memories are valid, Gerome is real. The strength of his arms were real, the way his dark hair looked like the night, the softness of his face when he thought he was alone when talking to Minerva.

“He was kind of mean, actually,” Laslow said, “he always acted so cold and distant. Always so serious. But he had a nicer side, though. He had a wyvern, Minerva, and he was always so sweet to her. Sometimes, I’d catch him calling her ‘Minervykins’. Minerva liked my dancing.” He smiles at the distant memory. “… He did, too.”

They are both silent, for a while. Right now, it was only the two of them and the stars in the dark sky and the memories of someone once familiar as one’s own mind. The music and the dancing were behind them.

Xander’s voice is soft when he speaks. “Did you love him?”

Laslow’s first instinct is to deny it, to say no, no he did not love him. But Xander is here, and he is kind, tender, and he cares about him. It’s the real Xander, who is far from the image of the cold, unmoving prince. Xander, his dear friend. Laslow doesn’t want to lie to him.

“Perhaps,” Laslow says. He’s looking down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. “Perhaps I did, once. I honestly don’t know myself, but… I think I did. Even so, that’s it. Being in love, just the feeling. Nothing happened.”

He’s never opened up to anyone about this before. Not Odin, not Selena. They helped with his other troubles, but never this. He inhales.

“Back then, I wondered, sometimes, if he felt something towards me, too.” Because of the way Gerome liked to watch him dance, how sometimes he would catch Gerome giving him a tiny smile when he thought he wasn’t looking, how Gerome took risks just to protect him on the battlefield. “But as I said, nothing happened. I never acted on it, and neither did he. Nothing happened, and then I left.

“It doesn’t matter, anymore. That was a long time ago. I’ve gotten over him, those feelings,” Laslow continues. “It just… crosses my mind, sometimes.”

It was true. He _had_ gotten over him. He knows, by now, that it does no good to dwell on the past. Painful memories can’t be erased, but happier ones can be made with the present. And he intends to do just that.

Again, there is silence. And again, Xander breaks it. “Well…” he starts, in a strangely strained tone, “you will return, won’t you? Maybe then you can. Clear things up.”

Laslow looks at him. Xander is looking down, his jaw set. Laslow cannot read the look on his face.

“Is everything all right, my lord?”

“Yes,” Xander says, too quickly. He coughs. “Excuse me. Everything’s fine.”

“Has milord gotten a cold?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Laslow gives him one more concerned look before moving his gaze to the night sky. That was one comfort he discovered when he first came here; it was just the same as the sky back home. The people drew different figures from the stars, seeing the dusk and dawn dragons instead of Naga and the Hero-King, but Laslow didn’t mind. 

“I’ve been thinking about that, too, lately,” Laslow says. “Going back, I mean. I’ve been having second thoughts.”

Xander turns to him. “It’s your homeland. Where you were born.”

“Yes.”

“Your family is there.”

“They are.”

“And your… your… Gerome.”

“That is true.”

“Why would you ever think of staying here?”

Laslow smiles, wistfully. “Maybe I’ve just grown too attached to you, milord.”

Xander frowns. “I told you already,” he says, “if you wanted to leave, you have my blessing to do so.”

“My,” Laslow says, putting a hand on his chest,  acting like he’d just been gravely offended,  “would you truly wish to see me go so badly?”

“No! I— ugh." Xander looks up and pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, clearly distressed.

“Don’t fret, milord, I was merely joking,” says Laslow.

“I don’t _wish_ for you to leave,” Xander says. “I only want you to be happy.”

Laslow gives him a smile, touched by his words. “Maybe I’m happy here.”

Xander’s brows knit together in frustration, confusion.  “But _why_? I don’t understand,” he says.

“I told you already,” Laslow says, repeating Xander’s earlier statement, “I like you too much.”

Xander looks pained. Laslow doesn’t know why. He didn't like seeing him like this. He liked it better earlier, when their conversation had just started and Xander was in a better mood.  Was it something he said?  Why is he so upset? More importantly, what can Laslow do to help him?

“Laslow,” Xander says at last, “may I be frank with you?”

Laslow nods. “Of course. After all, you’ve listened to me tonight. As your friend, it would only be right to do the same for you, milord.”

Xander shakes his head. “No,” he says, “not ‘milord’. Not now. Only Xander. Please.”

Laslow looks at him, wondering what brought this on. “All right,” he says, “Xander.”  His name alone, without a title attached to it, feels so naked and bare. It’s intimate. 

Xander inhales. “Is it true, what you said earlier?” he asks. “That you’ve gotten over him?”

Laslow blinks. He’s asking that? Why? “Yes,” he says, “why do you ask, mil—Xander?”

“Because then, at least, I could hope,"  Xander says in a small, small voice. Laslow isn’t used to it and it catches him off guard. Xander often spoke in a strong, firm voice, giving out commands or addressing his army.

“Hope,” Laslow repeats. What’s he saying?

“Yes.”

Laslow lifts a brow. “You said you were going to be frank with me, yet I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”

Xander lets out a shaky laugh. “Forgive me, my friend. It’s just that I don’t know how to say this.”

“It’s all right, Xander,” Laslow says. “You can take your time.”

“It’s because I’m in love with you,” Xander blurts out. Then he clasps his hand over his mouth in embarrassment, face red. He turns his face to the ground.

Xander is in love with him. Laslow can’t think. There is only his heart beating and beating in his chest, its rhythm quicker than one of the face-paced routines his mother taught him, giving him as much exhilaration as he gets from moving his feet swiftly in a dance.

“Xander,” Laslow says, slowly. “Take off your mask and look at me, please.”

Xander does. When he lifts his gaze to look at him, Laslow sees an expression on his face he hasn’t seen before. Xander is scared.

He doesn’t want Xander to be scared. He never wants him to be scared. He takes hold of Xander’s arms, smoothing down the fabric, trying to ease him.

“Now,” he says, gently, “what did you want to say to me?”

Xander starts to relax. His breathing evens out, and the knit in his brows is gone. His eyes are open and earnest. “You are one of the people I trust the most,” he starts. “At first I thought you were only just a philanderer, useful in battle, but… in the years in which I have known you, I’ve been proven wrong. You’re kind, and you only wish to see others smile. When I’m with you, I feel like I can become the best person I can be. When I’m with you, I… I have this happy little feeling, bubbling in my chest, and nothing makes me feel warmer or safer.”

Laslow looks at him in awe and disbelief. “I… I’m not that great,” he says weakly.

Xander frowns. “But you are,” he insists. “To me, you are.”

“You don’t know what kind of person I am entirely.”

“I would like to learn,” Xander says. “I would like to learn everything about you, if you would only allow me. Laslow. I do not expect you to return my feelings, but it was important to me that you know how much you mean to me. I hope that we could still remain friends, after this.”

“What?” Laslow says, a little frantic and high-pitched. “What are you saying? I do like you! I adore you! I’ve literally told you that for the third time tonight!”

Xander’s brows shoot up. He turns red. “I didn’t think that you meant it in that way.”

Laslow scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, well, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way, too, since I was unsure if you felt the same way for me before.”

“Oh. Right, yes, of course,” Xander says. “But… you do have feelings for me? Why?”

“‘ _Why_ ,’ he asks!” Laslow cries. “Honestly, Xander, it was understandable when _I_ was asking that question, but you? It’s because you’re… you’re… Xander!”

But this doesn’t cheer up Xander at all. His face turns to disappointment. “Because I am king," he says, sullenly.

“ _Huh?_ ” Laslow says, incredulously. “No! No, no! Would you truly think of me as so shallow?”

“No, no, I do not! Forgive me,” Xander says. “It’s just that—it’s the only reason people take interest in me, apparently.”

Oh.

“That is not why I like you,” Laslow says, a look of determination on his face. “You have so much compassion in you. The others always say that you’re unfriendly and unemotional, but that’s not who you are at all. You are brave, and strong, but not cold. You care _so much_ , for the people you love. You’re always going out of your way to do nice things for people when they’re sad, like Princess Hinoka’s dinner party. _Yes._ It was you. I know it was. Don’t deny it.

I feel the same, Xander. I feel like a better person when I’m with you. Someone who is more confident, and more capable of doing greater things.” Laslow smiles warmly at him. “And I’ve fallen in love with you, as well.”

Xander laughs, then, a sound of both relief and joy. “You don’t know,” he says, “how much that means to me. It’s always quite bothered me, how others always viewed me as some cold, distant figure. A part of me had started to believe that they were all right, and that’s all who I truly am. It means so much to me to hear those words, especially from someone so important to me.”

Laslow grins wider. He takes Xander’s hands into his. They are warm, and Laslow feels safe. “It makes me so glad to see you happy, Xander.”

The look on Xander’s face is something Laslow wishes he could keep forever: a look full of love and warmth. “I really do love you, Laslow.”

                                                                     

“And I you.” Laslow looks down to their enjoined hands, his face flushed. “So… what now?”

“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, not right now,” Xander says. He bites his lip. “But… if you would let me, I would love you, most sincerely and ardently, as you deserve.”

Laslow let out a breath. What sort of things had he done, to be blessed with someone like Xander in his life? He brings up Xander’s hands to his lips and kisses them gently. “Only if you would let me do the same for you.”

Xander’s face lights up. He pulls Laslow into an embrace, holding him tightly. Laslow rests his head on Xander’s chest and wraps his arms around his waist. He can feel Xander breathing, his heart beating. Xander loves him. It is the happiest he’s ever been.

(He hopes that back in his faraway homeland, Gerome is happy, too. He hopes they all are.)

The door going back to the ballroom opens quite suddenly. Laslow and Xander both look up to Corrin holding Silas’s hand in the doorway.

“Oh,” says Corrin, blushing. “ _Oh!_ ”

“We’re so, so sorry, Your Majesty!” cries Silas, as red as Corrin and absolutely flustered. “We didn’t mean to intrude! We’ll leave right now!”

“Looks like we’ll have to find some other place to make out— _mmmpf!_ ” Corrin says, but Silas slaps his hand over his mouth.

“He means to, uh, discuss… the new diplomatic policies! Just like good ‘ol friends do! Haha! Ha! It’s the new slang, you know!” Silas says. “Excuse us, milord!” He drags Corrin with him back inside and closes the door.

Laslow and Xander both blink at the space where Corrin and Silas both were, before looking back at each other. And then promptly bursting into laughter.

“I told you so,” says Xander.

“Never said you were wrong,” Laslow says, wiping away a tear from all his chortling.

He wonders if there is still some way for him to properly say goodbye to all his friends and family back home. He’ll figure it all out later. Right now, he’s content.

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically all my feelings of "I love Laslow/Xander, but I also love Inigo/Gerome, oh no!!", in fic form.
> 
> Title is the way it is because it's from a poem by e.e. cummings, [i carry your heart in me(i carry it in]. Because you know how e.e. cummings is and I love mushy romantic poems.
> 
> Illustration by me (can't risk people yelling at me for not sourcing the artwork lol). I have tumblr! @transientvision
> 
> EDIT (05/01/16): Changed a few things. Some words were in past tense, even though the rest of the fic is in present tense. I went ahead and fixed those. Eugh, how sabaw was I when I wrote this (idk what sabaw is in english. who cares lmao)


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